


Fictober Day 5: Build, feat Asra and Morgana

by PusillanimousBitch1138



Series: Fictober 2019 [5]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: (it's a fade to black not smut), ALL OF THE GODDAMN ANGST, Angst, Character Death, F/M, I WEPT my dudes, Letters, Mwahahaaha, That's how, That's it, fucking angst, how morgana got the plague, it hurts more because she's my lucio and muriel romance, letter-writing, morgana's final days, pre-death apprentice, she fucked lucio, so like she doesn't even end up with asra, striaght up, vesuvian plague
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-11-25 17:24:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20915804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PusillanimousBitch1138/pseuds/PusillanimousBitch1138
Summary: A recounting of Morgana's final weeks before her death.





	1. Chapter 1

“I don’t know why you won’t just come with me!”

Morgana pinched the bridge of her nose, anger flaring. “And if you didn’t have your head shoved so far up your ass, Asra, you would _know _why I can’t!”

Asra gestured angrily towards the window, towards the island. “Do you realize how bad it is? They’re dying so quickly that Lucio is building a mass grave!”

She spun around and doubled down on him, fury thickening the air between them. Angrily, she shoved a finger in his chest. “I know better than _you _how bad it is, Asra, because I’m out there _doing something!_ What are you doing? Hiding! Running away, like always!”

Scowling, he rubbed the place she poked him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She shook her head, looking at him with disgust. “You always do this. You always run away when things get tough, Asra. Well not me. Not this time.” Taking a deep, steadying breath, she stepped back, sorrow taking over her anger. “I’m staying, Asra.” She turned her head from him to hide her tears as she whispered a wobbling, “If you’re leaving, then just… go.”

“Morgana—”

“Don’t.” Shaking her head, she took another step back and hugged herself. “Don’t make this harder, Asra.”

_‘Stay?’ _

Two pairs of violet eyes turned towards their scaly companion, peaking up out of Asra’s coat. Morgana looked towards Asra, waiting, and the silence between them stretched endlessly until Asra met her gaze, and she knew his answer. “No, Faust. It’s too dangerous to stay.”

_‘Oh…’ _

Morgana swallowed hard as Asra reached for his pack. He made it to the door of the shop before pausing, his back to her. “Be careful, Morgana. I… I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”

Squeezing her eyes shut tight, her nails dug into her arms to keep herself from crying. “I… I will…” She turned her back to the door and took a shuddering breath. “I love you, Asra.”

There was only a moment of silence before the door clicked shut, and Morgana’s resolve crumbled. Choking back bitter, trembling sobs, she made her way up to the apartment over the shop and collapsed in a weeping heap upon the bed. Meanwhile, Asra leaned heavily against the wall in the alley, hiding tears of his own in his scarf. The desire to go back inside, to take her in his arms and kiss her pain away was almost too strong to defy, an invisible compulsion pulling him by his heart to her side.

Instead, he shoved away from the wall and stumbled away hastily, a decision that would haunt him to his dying breath.

Xxx

The weeks passed in a haze, every day the same. Morgana rose before the sun, washed, dressed, made her way to the castle, descended into the dungeons below to start her days’ work alongside Julian and the other doctors. The construction on the Lazaret finished quicker than most had expected, given its height and complexity. Despite the distance out of her way, Morgana insisted on walking down to the docks every night to stare off across the skylit waters, towards the looming monstrosity. And every night, she cursed it, cursed the plague, cursed herself and her failures as a healer.

Xxx

A month after his departure came Asra’s first letter with a pressed golden wildflower within. It was simple, to the point, avoiding the heavy feelings between them, not that she would’ve hoped he’d address them in the first place.

_Morgana—_

_ I’ve gone North, and picked this flower along the way. It reminds me of the scarf you made me for my birthday last year. I found a cute little village and have been granted a little apartment over the baker’s shop. I think I’ll stay here another week or so. _

_ <strike>I wish you were</strike> _

_ <strike>You should see</strike> _

_ I hope you’re doing well. Write soon— Asra_

She’d made the mistake of reading this letter before she left for the castle one morning. Though the tears had more than dried by the time she stepped into Julian’s room, his reaction to the sight of her blotchy face and swollen eyes was immediate. “Morgana?” Jumping up from his desk, he enveloped her in a tight hug and inspected her for signs of injury or physical distress, even pressing a hand to her forehead to check for a fever. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Shaking her head, she sniffled and pushed the fresh wave of tears back down. “N-Nothing. I got a letter from…” Taking a shuddering breath, she stepped around him to take her seat beside his desk. “From Asra.” She took up her notepad and got to work, struggling to keep her calm. Though he was still clearly concerned, Julian respected her distance and took his own seat again, and together they set to work for the day.

Xxx

The next letter came two weeks later, another flower pressed within it, this one a soft white.

_Morgana—_

_ I feel like it’s been ages since we’ve seen each other. I worry. You are being careful, right? I hear stories in the market, that the Plague is worsening. I’ll be moving north again, to a village I visit frequently in my travels. Maybe one day we can go together. _

_ Please be safe. <strike>I can’t I want to</strike> _ _I hope to see you soon. We miss you. –Asra_

Though the pain lingered, this time Morgana did not weep. Instead, she placed the flower upon her table beside the first and sighed. She rose from her seat, walked over to the stove, and lovingly scooped out the fire salamander. “I miss him, Benny.” Benny looked up at her and _krrr_ed at her as if he understood her pain, and when she placed him upon her shoulder, he wrapped himself around her neck and huffed, a small ember exhaled out in front of her as he did so. She nodded, feeding him a charcoal chip. “Agreed.”

With a heavy sigh, she set about packing her bag for the next weeks’ work. With the plague worsening as it had—so much so that Lucio had ordered a crematorium be built at the Lazaret—the workload on the doctors and their apprentices had doubled, meaning Morgana and Julian took turns sleeping and working. She’d only even come home to collect her mail, take care of Benny, and gather some fresh clothes. Once her bag was packed, she carefully scooped Benny into her hands and pressed her forehead against his, fresh tears welling in her eyes. “I promise, Benny, when all this is over, I’m going to give you all the wood and charcoal chips you could possibly want.”

Benny wiggled at that and _skrr_ed happily at her. She smiled sadly down at him and pressed a soft kiss to his head. “You be good, ok? Don’t burn the shop down or I shall be very cross.” At his chirping reply, she smiled and sat him back in the stove. A ring of smoke popped up at her as if he were saying goodbye, and the sight put a smile on her face as she turned to leave.

Xxx

The last letter Morgana received came two more weeks later. This one was accompanied with a vibrant violet flower and a small pouch of tea leaves.

_Morgana—_

_ Faust and I have meandered to the west. There’s a village about a day’s walk from where I am now, but this place is so peaceful. It’s just flowers, as far as the eye can see. My magic feels stronger here, like this place is otherworldly in a way. This flower was the only one of its kind in a sea of coneflowers. After I picked it, I felt bad for a moment because it’s obviously special to have grown in so differently than its surroundings, but then I decided that makes it better. It reminds me of you. _

_ When all this is over and we’re together again, we should talk. I have something I want to ask you. _

_ Thinking of you. Always. –Asra_

Morgana smiled and sipped the tea. It was sweet above the general bitterness of tea, but its flavor was deep and rich. As she set the emptied cup down on its saucer, the thought that it would be the last cup of tea she ever drank was nowhere near her mind.

The exhaustion came first. It crept up so steadily that she had no reason to suspect it, simply wrote it off as being overworked. They were all tired, all the doctors except Valdemar of course, though Morgana and Julian tried very hard not to think of their boss. Julian didn’t notice it, either, not that Morgana could blame him. Lucio was sick now. Julian’s full attention was focused on him, as it should be. The Count is important, after all. No. She couldn’t blame him.

It wasn’t until three days before that year’s masquerade that she awoke in a cold sweat, skin ablaze and frozen all at once. Breath raspy and pained, she pulled herself to sitting and reached for the mirror Julian had forgotten upon the small wash basin.

She could not cry when the eyes looking back at her burned a brilliant scarlet, contrasting starkly with the cool violet of her irises. Instead, she pulled herself from bed, stripped the sheets, tore off a piece long enough to tie around her nose and mouth, and stepped out of the office. Julian was too busy at work to notice, too deep in his research, in his scribblings.

She did not blame him.

The flames swallowed the sheets easily, and as she sat and observed them, the idea that soon it would be her upon the fires slipped into her mind.

She should’ve been helping.

The thought came to her after a while. She should’ve gone, relieved Julian, kept working. But she was so tired. Her limbs were already so heavy with the disease. It shouldn’t have happened that quickly, she realized idly. Most cases took three days to a week to take such a strong hold. Perhaps it took hold in her faster because of her exhaustion. Yes, that made sense.

“Morgana?”

She couldn’t look away from the flames, the thoughts of her imminent demise having evolved into just a vague sense of tranquility. She couldn’t be afraid, couldn’t be angry. No. What use would that be? If she were to get angry, to throw things, to scream, to weep, it would do nothing to help. There would be no help, now.

The gloved hand upon her shoulder didn’t startle her, but she did look down at it as if it were not of this world. Was she even of this world?

Julian moved to stand in front of her then squatted to get a better look at her. When her viciously scarlet sclera turned towards him, he gasped, fell from his squat to the ground. “No…”

Though he couldn’t see it, she smiled at him, softly, serenely. Shaking her head, she patted his hand which had fallen to her knee. “It’s alright, Julian.”

“No, Morgana—” Tears were quick to build in his eyes and spill over. He pushed himself up and into her arms, his hands clutching desperately at her. “_No_,” he sobbed. And as she wrapped her arms so delicately, so easily around him, he repeated it again and again.

She held him for as long as she could manage until her arms were less holding him and more just hanging against him. Her strength was fading quickly. They’d seen it happen before, some patients fading in a matter of hours. Julian shook against her, his tears long since drenching her clothes, but she didn’t mind. The other doctors had come to stand witness, colleagues she’d grown delighted to call friends, most of them weeping, too. But she didn’t mind. She was too tired to mind now. “Julian,” she whispered once her head had begun to grow too heavy to hold.

He pulled back to look up at her, his eyes almost as angrily red as hers. “M-Morgana?” he blubbered.

It took some doing, the strength difficult to pull together, but she finally managed to put a serene smile on her face. “I’m going now, Julian.”

“N-No! Morgana! Morgana, please, no!”

She blinked heavily, hard, the effort to reopen her eyes feeling like running uphill in quicksand. “Tell Asra I’m sorry, ok?”

He sniffled hard and shook his head. “You’ll tell him yourself.”

Ah, another smile. She’s not even sure she managed it, but she knows Julian knew she wanted to. “It’s ok, Julian.”

And then the strength left her. Julian caught her, laid her down against the floor and shook her. As he wept over her, his head against her breast, she looked up at the ceiling. And as she looked, it morphed before her eyes, the gruesome, dank, dark stalactites transforming into rolling hills, growing bright and warm, and the smell of wildflowers filled her nose. In the distance, she could see a familiar crop of fluffy, white hair sitting up against the flowers, turning in her direction, and she smiled. “Asra?”

Xxx

The letter was found the next day. A gloved hand picked it up from inside the door to the Magician’s shop, and Julian stared down at the familiar scrawl, exhausted from weeping and grief. Tiredly, he carried himself up to the apartment over the shop, each step heavier than the last. The stove salamander poked its head out to greet his friends, but upon seeing Julian and his wretched expression, the wise animal let out a soft keening sound that drew Julian’s attention. With a trembling breath, he carried himself over and scooped the gentle creature up and sat him in his lap as he sat at the table.

The envelope was heavy, and as Julian opened it, he could see why. If he had any tears left to give, they’d have fallen as he pulled out the ring, simple and silver, and he rolled it in his hand for a minute, trying to regain the strength to read. The salamander crawled up to the table and laid forlornly against a small stack of letters all bearing Asra’s scrawling script. Sighing, Julian opened the new letter and braced himself.

_Morgana—_

_ I couldn’t wait. I keep thinking about how we left things, and I’m so angry at myself. I should’ve stayed, should be there with you. I’m coming back. At first it was just for the Masquerade but now it’s for you. This letter will find you before I do (I’ve traveled quite far these past weeks,) so I want to ask you that question now. _

_ Morgana, I should’ve told you then how I felt, even if you know already. You said you loved me, and I hope that’s still true, because this coward loves you, too. If you’ll have me, Morgana, I would ask your hand. _

_Will you marry me? _

_I make my way to you now, my love. I hope beyond hope you’ll say yes, because I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Morgana. Come what may, I want to face it with you. I want to be courageous, Morgana, with you. _

_Please say yes. –Asra _

Julian sat there for what felt like years trying to figure out what to do, how to get the message to Asra that he need not hurry. But Fortune, as it often does, had another idea, because upon the setting of the sun, the bell above the shop’s door chimed.

“Morgana? Morgana are you here? Did you get my letter? Oh, I have so much I want to—” Asra stopped at the top of the stairs, staring wide-eyed at Julian. “What are you doing here?” Julian swallowed hard and looked down at the letter. Asra’s eyes followed his gaze then glazed over in anger. “What are you doing? Reading Morgana’s mail now? Who do you think you are?” Asra stormed over quickly and snatched the letter and the ring from the table, casting a glare at Julian.

“Asra.”

“Well? Where is she? Is she still cooped up in that… that dungeon? Gods, man, you’re going to work her to death!”

“A-Asra.” It would seem Julian had tears to spare after all. They welled in his eyes as he pushed himself to his feet, looking at the ground.

“Save it, Julian, I’m going to go find her. She needs to have some air—”

“ASRA!”

Asra froze in place, half turned to leave. His face was turned away, but Julian could see the sagging of his shoulders. “Don’t say it.”

“She… Asra, I’m… I’m so… I’m so sorry.” Julian’s voice cracked sharply on the last word as a fresh wave of sobs overtook him, dragging him to sit back down.

Asra stood there a long time, making no movement, and for a moment, Julian wasn’t even sure he was breathing. Finally, Asra whispered a strained, “When?”

Julian sniffled and wiped his nose on a napkin. “Y-Yesterday. She… It was so fast… I couldn’t… I tried—”

“You tried? You _tried?” _Asra shook his head sharply, moving down the stairs. “You always _try_, Julian. Why don’t you _do _something for once?”

The door to the shop slammed sharply, leaving Julian weeping in silence, his only company the salamander.

Xxx

Asra was moving quickly, feet carrying him before his mind had even caught up. No. Julian was wrong. She’s fine. She’s just taking a walk or something. He’ll find her, he’ll hug her, he’ll kiss her, and he’ll propose properly, and they’ll spend their lives together in happy bliss.

Except she was nowhere. Not at the tavern, not at the docks, not at the marketplace, not at the palace. When he asked a passing doctor where she was, his only answer was a pained look and a soft, “You don’t know?”

No. He didn’t know. Because they were wrong. They had to be. Morgana is strong. She’s fine. This is all some _sick _joke. And he’d prove it.

The moon was beginning to rise as he made his way to the docks, pure spite fueling his steps now. It was easy enough securing a boat to take him across the water, and the fury within him spurred his magic, spurred the boat to fly faster than he’d normally achieve. Within minutes, he was coming ashore, the monstrous tower looming overhead. The stench of death clung to this place, worse than he’d ever experienced before. It stank of rot and burnt bodies, and ash floated down from the sky like snow. Asra wrapped his scarf about his face as he pushed his way towards the center of the island where the Lazaret loomed.

Faust was trembling inside his pocket. _‘Leave.’ _

“We can’t, Faust. We have to find her.” Once Asra was far enough inland, he stopped and closed his eyes. Feeling out with his magic, he searched for her magic that was by now as familiar to him as her voice.

_There. _

He took off sprinting in the direction his magic told him, following an invisible string connecting him to her as if it were a lifeline in a snowstorm. “I knew it, Faust! She’s here!” Laughter bubbled in his chest, manic and hysterical, but it did not live long. As he rounded a corner, he stopped dead in his tracks as he took in the sight at hand. Mounds buried in the sand at irregular intervals decorated the view as far as he could see, some older, some newer. “No…”

Trembling, Asra stepped out, following the pull of his magic. “M-Morgana?” This wasn’t happening, was it? Oh, how he’d laugh about this nightmare when he woke. Not his Morgana, not like this. Not…

Except as he approached the freshest mound, approached the source of the pull, he could no longer lie to himself. The moon hung high overhead, casting a sickening silver glow upon the sand as Asra fell to his knees. “No…” He reached out, touched the top of the mound, and as the connection spell faded out, Asra’s tears began to fall. “NO!” Screaming with violent sobs, he began to dig, his hands scraping hard at the sand. It cut at him, scraped his skin until he was sure his hands were bleeding, but still he dug, weeping, deeper, deeper, until… His hands hovered over the sack, trembling with pain and exertion. “M… Morgana…” He knew. This… This was her. His Morgana. The woman who delighted his days, whose smile lit his entire world, whose voice calmed his every hurt, whose courage and kindness served as endless guiding inspiration to him. Slowly, carefully, he pulled the sack from the sand and cradled it to his chest. His fault. This was his fault. He’d helped Lucio. He’d encouraged him. His selfishness is the reason this happened. The reason she’s gone. The reason for all of this. Him. His fault.

And as he held what remained of her, of his Morgana in his bleeding hands, the tears began to stop, his sobs began to quiet, until his pain was replaced with anger. “No.” The plan was unfolding in the depths of his mind. As he carefully—so, so carefully—put her back in the ground, Asra grit his teeth against his anger and clenched his fists. “Don’t worry, Morgana,” he whispered through a set jaw. “I’m going… I’m going to fix this. We’ll… We’ll be together again. I promise.” And as he gingerly covered her back up, he wept anew for what was to come.


	2. Fictober Days 9: Swing, 10: Pattern and 14: Overgrown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another recounting of the final months leading up to Morgana's death, featuring a romance between her and Lucio.

There aren’t many people who know, but deep within the gardens, there is a rather large apple tree, and from this tree hangs a single, simple swing. Morgana stumbled upon it one chilly winter morning after getting lost in the wide expanse of greenery. Finding it a second time took ages, as if the gardens didn’t want to let her in on their secret and changed, but Morgana has always been blessed with a good sense of direction. Since finding it, she has made it a point to visit the space at least once every other day to detox from the dark, cramped, busy dungeons. Some days she feels as though she’s been down there so long, she’ll be blinded by the sun when she comes up for air. 

Today is a beautiful day. Spring is in full flourish now, flowers opening all across the gardens. The apple tree is a picture, branches filled with brilliant soft white flowers that seem to glow in the warm sunlight, and a cool breeze drifts through the hedges around the clearing. Morgana sits on the swing, the exhaustion from these past few weeks catching up to her as it usually does. The work she’s helping is worthwhile, she knows that, but gods if it wasn’t tiring. She doesn’t know how Julian does it, honestly. The man rarely sleeps, has to be reminded to eat, doesn’t take his breaks. From the afternoon to late morning it’s just work, work, work from him. Getting him to sleep is a Herculean task every single morning, but getting easier. He’s beginning to grow tired, too. 

As she sits, her mind wanders to Asra, and her heart aches. It hurts less each day, his departure. And if the letter she found on her doorstep yesterday was any indication, he isn’t thinking much of her. He didn’t even address their argument, didn’t ask how her work was proceeding, didn’t say he misses her. It hurt. She’d wept for nearly an hour and had been late to relieve Julian, not that he’d noticed her tardiness, just the redness of her eyes. She thinks she scared him, made him think she had the plague for a minute from how he’d panicked, felt for a fever. But he seemed to understand and hadn’t mentioned it since. She’s grateful for that. 

Her break is nearly over. If she doesn’t leave now, she’ll be late returning. Not that anyone notices. She’s a large woman but fairly unassuming. Her meager understanding of medicine isn’t enough to get her noticed by anyone but some of the other interns and apprentices. Julian only took an interest in her because of Asra, if she were to be honest with herself. (Not that she can complain. They’ve become good friends since.) But the thought of going back, of leaving this beautiful day behind? It’s too painful. 

She looks over at her pack and smiles slightly. Her break happened to coincide with her return from the docks, bearing new journals and correspondence for herself and Julian. When she’d left earlier, he’d been nose deep in a new theory of his own, scribbling away like a manic madman. Yes, that’s it then. She will work out here for a while, at least until she feels he’ll begin to notice her absence. With a renewed pep in her step, she grabs the pack and moves to sit at the base of the tree, humming to herself. 

Xxx 

Something is touching her, something cold and wet. It makes her squeal, eyes flying open as she jolts upright. Blinking the sleep away, she frowns to see one of Lucio’s dogs sitting there, staring at her, tail wagging. The other is a short distance away, sniffing at something in a bush. Melchior. Yeah. That’s it’s name. “Um…” She clears her throat and gently pats the dog’s head. “Good boy.” Melchior  _ whuff _ s and turns to join his companion. Morgana raises her brow at them and rubs at her eyes. With a frown, she realizes she’s slept much longer than she anticipated, nearly 4 hours judging by the position of the sun. “Great,” she mutters to herself. Julian would’ve noticed her missing by now, will probably by grumbly with her when she goes back. 

With a heavy sigh, she pulls herself to her feet and dusts off her pants. Her hair has fallen from its braid and hangs heavily around her, her curls wild and untamed. Grumbling, she goes over to the swing and gets to work untangling it, trying valiantly to pull it into some sort of… something. Having her hair down in the dungeons is never a good idea, especially not with those weird beetles lurking. Mercedes comes to sit at her feet and looks up at her, wagging her tail. Chuckling, Morgana reaches out and gently scratches behind the dog’s ear, which encourages Melchior to come receive the same treatment. 

“Babies, come on. Daddy doesn’t have all--Oh.” 

Blinking, Morgana looks up towards the voice and freezes, eyes widening. “C-Count Lucio. I, um, I…” Clearing her throat, she squares her shoulders and raises her chin. “Hello.” 

He looks fairly good today. The mystery of What Keeps Lucio Alive has been generous to him. She’d accompanied Julian to see him not three weeks ago and she was sure that that would be the day he died, yet here he stands. He hadn’t bothered with flashy clothes today aside from a pair of expensive looking leather gloves, nor had he applied any of his signature eye make-up. Standing before her, she might’ve mistaken him for any regular man if she couldn’t see the metal of his arm glowing beneath his thin shirt. His cheeks are a little fuller than they’d been last time she’d seen him, and his hair has just a bit more bounce. It’s like he was coming back to life.  _ I’ll have to inform Julian _ , she thinks to herself. Lucio looks from her to the dogs and back again, frowning. “What did you do to my dogs?” 

“Um… Pet… them?” 

Melchior trots over to Lucio and presses his head into his hand, whole body wiggling with love. Lucio looks down at him as he frowns, obviously deep in thought. “Who are you?” he finally asks. 

Mercedes  _ whuff _ s and puts her head on Morgana’s leg, surprising her. Morgana pets her once more then returns to trying to figure out her hair. “I’m um…” She clears her throat again. “My name is Morgana. I… I work with Dr. Devorak?” 

His brilliantly red eyes seem to pierce through her as he thinks, trying to place her. It takes him a moment, but recognition finally crosses his face. “Yes. Yes, you were with him the other day.” 

“Mm,” she affirms, agitation with her hair growing. Lucio watches her a moment, but then he crosses the clearing to stand behind her and swats her hands away. With a squeak, she looks back at him. “W-What are you doing?” 

“Shut up,” he grumbles. With a surprising amount of gentility and ease, he pulls her hair from its knots and starts weaving it into what feels like a rather lovely braid considering he had no comb. After a long moment, he says, “My clan… A lot of the women wore their hair in these fancy braids and styles. My mother…” His voice hardens for a moment, but he presses on. “She told me that the braids are also useful for things like ropes. So. She taught me.” 

Morgana sits there, looking down at Mercedes with bewilderment.  _ Is this… For real?  _ “I… Well… Thank you, your excellency.” 

There’s a sharp tug that pulls a rather embarrassing gasp from her before he growls, “Don’t tell anyone.” Hiding her blush, she hums in acknowledgement and runs her fingers through Mercedes’s soft fur. There’s another long moment before he speaks again. “They like you. They don’t like anybody but me, but they like you.” 

Mercedes  _ whuff _ s again as if she were affirming the statement, and Melchior wags his tail once from where he lays, lazily. Smiling, Morgana scratches beneath the dog’s chin. “Most animals do. Always have. Hell, once, I had even had a raccoon named Poe.” 

“A...raccoon?” 

“Mm. Abandoned by its mother. She was a feisty little thing, wouldn’t even let Asra near her.” At the memory, the sadness creeps back. For a moment, she thinks Lucio might ask her something else, but he says nothing. A moment later, her hair is tossed across her shoulder as he walks back around to stand in front of her, and she inspects the braid. It’s intricate, almost strangely so given his lack of tools, with seven pleats all woven in a strange pattern, but it feels sturdy. It will hold, likely even another few days if she wanted it to. Blushing, she settles it back over her shoulder and smiles up at him. “Thank you.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbles. Is he…  _ blushing _ ? “Look. I, uh…” It’s his turn to clear his throat now. “I’m getting tired. The dogs weren’t supposed to bring me out this far, and I’m not…” His blush darkens and he swallows hard. “Would you…Shit, you’re with the doctors, right? Would you walk back with me?” 

Blinking, Morgana cocks a brow at him. Is he really asking her to escort him back to the palace? “Um… Yeah. Alright.” This day is already so goddamn weird. 

He waits somewhat impatiently, a hand on his cocked hip as she gathers her things. The run in circles around them a few times as they start to head out, and once they step into the maze, they take off running. Morgana chuckles, watching them go. “They’re a lively bunch.” 

“Yeah. Good hunting dogs.” 

She looks over at him, analyzes him. When she’d seen him last, he’d frightened her a little. His words had been harsh, cruel, biting towards Julian, and the quality of his health and how hoarse his voice had come across had only darkened the effect. But looking at him now, she might have forgotten he was sick if not for his eyes and the way he was beginning to sweat with exertion. His eye flicks over to her after a moment, and she squeaks but does not look away. Pulling to a stop, he looks at her properly. “What?” 

“Um. I was just. Thinking how good you looked. Compared to last time.” 

He raises a brow at her and puts on a sly grin that almost looks easy, might have if not for the difficulty he had standing straight. “Oh? Just good? Not… devilishly handsome?” 

She snorts and moves on, shaking her head. “Eh. I’ve seen better.” 

The shrieking gasp that responds to her makes her giggle, but she doesn’t look back. He rushes up to her side and gapes at her. “Better?  _ Better _ ? I will have you know that I am  _ beautiful _ !” 

“Well, if you have to say it, then it mustn’t be that true, must it?” At his sputtering, she laughs and nudges his arm. “Calm down. What I meant was, you look healthier. Julian hadn’t said you were on the up and up.” 

He glowers at her playfully as if unsure if she’s being sincere. It does not escape her notice that he gives her no explanation for it. She really will have to ask Julian after all. 

About halfway back, his breath has become a little ragged, and his steps have slowed just the slightest. Frowning, Morgana comes to a halt and gently catches his arm. “We should take a rest, yeah?” 

Lucio scoffs and pulls his arm from her. “I’m fine.” 

“Oh? So, if I were to take the secret shortcut to the dungeon and left you here all by yourself, you’d be totally fine then, would you?” She can tell he wants to tell her that yes, he would, but his crimson eyes flick nervously back towards the palace. There is still quite a bit of maze left between them and their destination. Smiling, she gestures down the next turn. “There’s a few benches over there. Come on.” 

Grumbling, he follows, and they sit down together on a rather old stone bench sat underneath a trellis with a blooming vine flower. Her bag plops to the ground below before she turns to him, her hands going to his face, pushing and prodding at the skin. “H-Hey! What the hell are you doing?” he huffs. 

She rolls her eyes as she tilts his face up towards the sun and inspects irises. “I’m checking you out.” 

He sputters but she releases his face and puts a finger to his neck and pauses, feeling for a pulse. “There are better ways to check me out, you know.” 

“Shut it.” He stills, raises a brow at the command. Nobody talks to him that way. Not even Nadia, and she hates him (though he’d die before admitting it aloud.) It was kind of… Ooh. Obediently, he shuts his mouth and watches her from the corner of his eye. After a moment, she turns back to dig in her pack, mumbling numbers to herself. He takes the opportunity to look her over, to note the myriad of colorful tattoos he can see through her shirt, take in the shape of some of her more lovely...assets. When she turns back to him, he puts on what he hopes is still a sexy, lazy grin as he affects a more enticing pose. When she looks up from writing in her notebook, she blinks owlishly, and he’s delighted to see the faintest of blushes dusting her cheeks. “What uh. Whatcha doin?” she asks. 

It’s been too long since he’s tried to do this, months since he’s even felt well enough to try to do this. Shit. He didn’t think he’d get this far. Shit, he hasn’t answered yet, it’s been too long. With as much mock confidence as he can muster, his hand goes to clasp her shoulder, and he juts his chin up at her once. “Hey.” 

_ Hey? HEY?  _ He’s careful to keep his face from showing how embarrassed he is by that attempt. For a long moment she just stares at him, eyes scanning over his face, and if he were a lesser man he might be afraid she was finding him wanting or even gross given his illness, but there was no revulsion in her giant violet eyes. Instead, much to his infinite delight, the blush across her cheeks darkens and she averts her gaze from him. If her hair had still been down, she might have hidden behind it. He draws his hand back but keeps his gaze on her, now focused on the tattoos again. Idly, he realizes he wants desperately to see them, and not just because they seem to delve well into her bra and below the hem of her pants. She intrigues him. It’s been… quite a while since someone has intrigued him like this. 

She clears her throat after a moment and jumps to her feet. “Well, shall we? Julian’s probably driving himself crazy wondering where I am.” And it’s true. There’s no way even Dr. Workaholic hasn’t noticed she’s been gone for far too long. 

Lucio raises a brow at that but hauls himself to his feet. “Does he often care where you are?” 

“Well I should hope so. I’m his apprentice, after all.” They start off at a leisurely pace, and it does not escape his notice how she watches him from the corner of her eye as if worried he might collapse. “My break was over hours ago, but I uh…” Sheepishly, she scratches her temple and clears her throat again. She does that a lot, he’s noticed. “I fell asleep working under the tree.” Idly, she hopes that he won’t get mad at her. After all, Julian is his personal doctor, and if his assistant is taking hours’ long naps under trees instead of helping cure him? She can’t see that going well. 

“And you always… take your break there?” 

He sounds… genuinely curious and shy. What? “Y-Yeah, I try to. It’s hard to get away long enough to reach it, but I like it there. It’s so far away from everything.” 

Lucio nods, more to himself than anything. “Yeah… I know what you mean.” 

They finish the walk in easy silence, both of them casting glances at the other. By the time they reach the palace, it’s obvious that Lucio is growing winded, and there is still a long way to go until he reaches his rooms. The dogs sit lazily at the bottom of the steps going up to the veranda, waiting patiently for their master. Lucio looks at the stairs with apprehension, but when he sees Morgana looking at him, it slips away and is replaced with a smile that she supposes tries to look easy. Smiling up at him, she tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear. “As a physician’s assistant, I think I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t escort you back to your room, Your Highness.” 

He scoffs, but the soft blush against his cheeks tells her he knows what she’s doing. “If you want, I guess, but I don’t see the point.” He starts climbing the stairs, still grumbling about how he’s the magnificent Count Lucio, he doesn’t need help getting to his own room, waste of time this and stupid that. 

Morgana follows, trying to fight a smile. Their pace up to Lucio’s wing is slow and steady, and thankfully avoids prying eyes. They stop at his door, the dogs disappearing into the depths of his room, and Morgana smiles up at him again. “Are you experiencing any symptoms of which I should inform Dr. Devorak?” 

He snorts and sends her a light-hearted glower. “No. I’m fine.” 

“Then I’ll take my leave.” She gives him a playful curtsy and a smirk before spinning on her heel and starting towards the dungeons. Until she turns the corner, she can feel his eyes boring into her back, and the realization makes her grin. 

Xxx

A week comes and goes before she sees him again. Since telling Julian of his marked improvement, Julian had gone to see Lucio twice a day every day, and apparently whatever had given Lucio the strength he had was beginning to fall again. Something about that makes Morgana’s heart ache, though she’s not sure why. Lucio’s a dick, after all. It’s a known fact to all who’ve ever heard of him. But… he’d been so soft with her, aside from tugging her hair. (Which, she can’t say she didn’t… enjoy that.) 

The work is picking up, now. Apprentices are encouraged to sleep in the dungeons with their masters, and frankly Morgana can’t see a reason to trek all the way home any more. Benny is more than capable of going a few days or even weeks at a time without her or Asra looking after him. Fire salamanders are very independent creatures, after all. So, Morgana is one of the few apprentices who accepted the situation. It’s an easy schedule. She still gets the morning shift, Julian the night though he insists on working well into the morning. But it’s difficult, getting any sleep in that place. She knows now why Julian refuses it so much. The sounds that come from the auditorium are frankly terrifying, from the scuttling in the well to the sounds of the dissections and the scraping of instruments. It’s quieter in their tiny room, but it’s still suffocating. Her retreats to the surface help a little. She and Julian went out to a restaurant down in the marketplace and had breakfast the other day, and they were both so relieved to be out in the fresh air and away from the dankness that they barely said a word between the two of them. 

Her break comes today, and she lets out a relieved sigh. Julian is asleep for once, so she’s able to slip away quietly, unnoticed by the other doctors. As she maneuvers the familiar maze, her mind wanders to Asra, wonders how he’s doing and if he misses her. The pain of his departure is beginning to ease, overshadowed by the severity of her work and the strange interaction she had with the Count, and for that she feels almost guilty. The thought makes her steps pause, makes her frown. 

Why should she feel guilty? Asra is the one who left. He made the decision to walk away from her and the life they’d begun to build together, even though she’d already been working closely with Julian and the other doctors in search of a cure for months by that point. No. She would not feel guilty for not mourning him longer. 

A cool breeze shifts through the hedges and wraps around her body. It’s then that she realizes she’s crying. Scoffing, she clenches her fists and trudges on, trying to get herself under control. As she rounds the corner to the apple tree clearing, she’s greeted with something heavy tackling her to the ground. Squealing, she goes down hard, hitting her elbow, but the heavy thing is joined by a second, and within moments she realizes there are two sloppy tongues licking at her, and her confusion turns into a fit of giggles. 

“Mercedes, Melchior! Bad dogs! Get off her!” 

Melchior obeys, returning to his master’s side, but Mercedes is less willing to go. Morgana, giggling now uncontrollably, pushes up on the dog. “H-Hey! Come on now.” Mercedes gives her entire face one long that made her groan between her laughter before letting her up. Wiping at her face, Morgana doesn’t notice Lucio walking over until his gloved hand is reaching out for her. Blushing, she smiles and takes it, uses it to steady herself as she hauls herself to her feet. She tucks her hair behind her ear and giggles again. “T-Thank you.” Clearing her throat, she wipes her face again. “I’m um… I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” As she looks up at him, she freezes for a moment, shock setting in. He’d deteriorated so much this past week. Where before he’d looked almost healthy, he now looked mere days from death. His skin had gone gaunt, his hair had lost its sheen and hung limply from his head, and his eyes were a brilliant red, rimmed with incredibly dark bags. She was quick to hide her surprise, though, and he didn’t seem to notice. But his deterioration concerns her. What had happened? 

He quirks a brow at her, and for an instant, she thinks that perhaps he had noticed her reaction to him. “Disturb me?” 

_ Phew. Thank goodness.  _ “Well. You’re obviously not here to see me, so I’m intruding on your peace. I’ll take my leave now, sir.” 

“Wait.” She pauses, eyes widening slightly. He’s blushing just a bit and looks away from her. “I um. You don’t have to go.” 

Raising a brow at him, she can’t help but smile slightly. “Oh?” 

“I mean I don’t care what you do. I don’t have time to worry about mere peasants such as yourself.” 

Chuckling at his terrible bluster, she just nods and scoots around him to sit upon a bench near the tree. “Well then.” Her pack crinkles as she digs in it, and Mercedes comes to sit at her feet, looking at her expectantly. Narrowing her eyes at the dog, Morgana shakes her head. “Not for puppies.” 

“What’s not for puppies?” 

It’s still fragrant despite having been in a bag for an entire day, and as she pulls the loaf of bread out, she can’t help but smile. “Pumpkin bread. From the baker near my shop.” 

The way he inches closer, she can almost imagine his nose twitching like a dog’s, drawing him to sit beside her. Passing him a piece, she smiles brightly at him. “The best in the city.” 

Eyeing her warily, he accepts it and brings it to his nose to sniff. “You know it’s in poor form to poison a dying man, right?” 

“Pfft. I’m a magician, sir, not a murderer. Here.” She takes a bite and looks pointedly at him as she chews. “Nothing here but some amazing spices.” 

That seems to appease him because he takes a cautious bite. His eyes widen ever so slightly before he takes another bite, this one larger. “This is… Oh,” he moans. 

Morgana blushes and giggles, tipping her head. “I’ll tell the baker you approve.” 

They eat together in silence for a while, watching the dogs play. Some fifteen minutes or so after they finished, she can feel Lucio’s eyes on her. “Your hair is different,” he comments. 

Blushing, she reaches up to touch it. How did he notice? “Y-yeah. I, um. I tried to replicate the braid you put in? It, um, it didn’t come out right. But I had to start my shift so I just… gave up.” 

Lucio  _ tsk _ s and wipes his gloved hands on his pants. “It’s not hard,” he mumbles. Without asking, he turns her shoulders to face away from him and quickly undoes the haphazard braid she’d been sporting all morning. “First you start here…” His fingers gather the hair starting at the top and pulls it back, making her shiver. “You split it like this… And then you do the first braid… And then…” 

Mumbling his way through the steps, Lucio’s hands brush easily through her hair, pulling it gently and expertly into a pattern that she is beginning to pick up on. But as he works, her heart races in her chest, and she hopes he can’t hear it.  _ I… Why do I feel like this?  _ she asks herself. They’d only spoken once before, after all. And though he seems a nice enough man, at least to her, he’s done horrible things. And then there’s Asra to consider. What were they now that he’d left? Still lovers? Just friends? Less than that? So lost in thought does Morgana get that she barely notices when her hair is draped gently across her shoulder, the braid completed. But oh, she does enjoy being so near him, even sick as he is. 

“Hey. You with me?” 

Squeaking, she snaps out of her thoughts and nods hastily. “Y-Yes, I’m sorry.” Her hands go to to touch her hair, and a brilliant blush explodes across her cheeks when she realizes there are a handful of flowers weaved in with her tresses. “I… Thank you,” she breathes. 

He mumbles something indignantly that she assumes is an acceptance of her gratitude. Turning back to him, she looks him up and down, takes in the way he’s trying so hard to stay sitting upright even though it’s obvious he’s exhausted. “My lord?” she whispers. 

“Lucio.” 

“I… er, yes, alright. Lucio. Why are you being so kind to me?” 

His bloodshot eyes rake over her, looking her up and down before settling upon her own eyes. “I…” He looks as if he wants to say something honest, maybe even personal, but his words get caught in his throat and transform into a coughing fit that he thankfully turns away from her for. 

Jumping to her feet, she rushes behind him and gently pats his back, her hand moving to feel his forehead. “You’re burning up!” she shrieks. 

“I’m… fine,” he coughs out, and she scoffs. 

“Fine my fat ass. Come on, let’s get you somewhere warm.” 

The wind has chilled a bit since they sat down together, and as she looks towards the sky, she’s dismayed to see the clouds have grown heavy with impending rain. They rush as fast as they can manage, but Lucio’s steps are clumsy and weak, slowing their pace considerably. 

The rain hits hard and fast, rolling in towards them like a tidal wave. Morgana rips her jacket off and throws it over Lucio’s head to keep him dry, and tries to push him faster along. If he gets too wet in this cold weather, whatever was keeping him as healthy as he is would surely diminish and that would be that. Count Lucio, dead because of Morgana the Apprentice’s inability to keep him dry. 

Making it to the palace is impossible. Instead, Morgana pulls him a different way, her teeth beginning to chatter from the cold of the rain. “Come, there’s a shed this way,” she tells him. Not that he’s fighting her at all. They weave through a few more halls in the maze before they find it, an old gardener’s shed, grown over with vines. Thankfully, it’s unlocked, and Morgana shoos Lucio in first. The dogs have disappeared, probably gone to their own hidey holes to wait out the storm, which is probably best. The shed is quite small, and the smell of wet dog would’ve overwhelmed them most likely. 

“Well. This is… cozy,” she mutters lamely. 

Lucio snorts, taking her jacket from his head and passing it back to her. “How’d you know this was here?” 

She works on ringing out her hair, wincing at the fact that the braid is starting to get messed up already and most of the flowers had fallen out during their not-so-mad dash. “Um. I used to get really lost in the maze, so I sort of committed the entire thing to memory. It took me a while, but there you go.” 

“I see.” He finds a crate to sit on and watches as she works at her hair. “Why do you keep it like that?” he asks after a while. 

“Hm?” 

“Your hair. Why keep it long if you never wear it down.” 

She raises a brow at that and snorts. “I wasn’t aware long hair had to be down to warrant being long.” 

“Well, no, but it just seems to trouble you more than anything.” 

He has a point, she has to admit. Her hair is her pride and joy, but what’s the point in keeping it like this with how careful she has to be at work? The idea of cutting it is… intriguing if premature. “I’m not ready to give up on it yet, I guess.” 

He hums in acknowledgement, still watching her movements. Once her hair is less drippy, she moves on to her shirt and sighs at the state of it. Glancing at him, she hides a blush. “I… Um. W-Would it bother you if… If I took my shirt off?” 

The grin he gives her is positively wicked, and it ignites a small fire in her belly that also confuses her. “Oh, Morgana. I thought you’d never ask.” He slips from the crate and tries to saunter over to her but his steps are a little too heavy to call it that. Squeaking, she starts backing up until he has her pinned against the door, towering over her. He lifts his finger to press under her chin, tilting her face up to better look at him, and she swallows hard. “I could… Help you with that,” he purrs. 

_ Oh.  _ Oh.  _ Oh my.  _ The thought is…  _ oh my.  _ A surprisingly large part of her wants to say yes despite everything, despite Asra and the plague and this tiny unromantic shed, wants to ask him for his ‘help’ but a harsh wind rocks the shed and seeps through the wood, setting her teeth to chattering. Lucio frowns, eyes raking over her body but without that hint of lust he bore a moment ago. “You really are soaking,” he mumbles. Moving surprisingly quickly, he clears the clutter in the room to make an empty spot on the floor, and once he finds a small shovel, he digs a pot-sized hole. “You’re a magician, right?” he asks. 

“I… Yes?” 

Nodding, he pulls at an old pile of what looks like spare bits of wood, planks and bits for bird houses, and dumps it all into the pit. “Can you start a fire?” 

Blinking, Morgana nods and goes to kneel beside him. The flame catches easily, and within moments, the shed is filled with warmth. Morgana sighs in relief and inches close, but Lucio is puttering around again. “Aha!” he cheers, and then he comes to shoo Morgana away just long enough to set down an old tarp. “Here, sit on this.” 

“Oh, how gallant,” she teases. 

“Ha ha. You’ll never get warm sitting on the cold ground. You need something between you and the dirt.” 

“Is that another one of your clan skills?” 

He settles down beside her, a pile of wood dropped between them. “Yes.” The word echoes hollow in the room, draws her interest, but she doesn’t press. It’s obvious Lucio doesn’t like talking about that part of his life. It becomes evident very quickly that the meager fire isn’t going to do enough to get Morgana dry or warm, so with a sigh, she pulls off her sopping shirt and grumbles. 

“Why hello there,” Lucio coos. 

Morgana blushes but tilts her head up in a laugh and playfully swats at him. “Calm down there, chief. You’ll give yourself a stroke.” Lucio chuckles and looks back towards the fire, but Morgana can see his eyes are beginning to droop a little. “Hey, are you feeling alright?” Scooting a little closer, she puts her hand back to his forehead and frowns. “You’re still burning up.” 

“Pfft, it’s nothing. The great Count Lucio won’t be felled by some stupid little cold.” But the tone in his voice suggests that even he is beginning to lose hope for his cure. 

Shaking her head, Morgana gives him an encouraging smile. “You certainly do seem the stubborn type, sir. Here,” she scoots around and clears a little more space for him then pats her thigh. “You should rest, get some strength back. This rain doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere for a while.” 

He eyes her for a minute before a sly (if strained) grin stretches across his face. “How generous.” His head is in her lap in an instant, looking up at her, his hands resting across his chest. She blushes and stiffens a little, but quickly relaxes. “How’s a pretty girl like you get messed up in all this plague shit anyway?” 

“Pfft.” Count Lucio? The genocidal maniac who usurped the throne of Vesuvia and has let the city go to ruin in favor of throwing magnificent parties? The most unmitigated dumbass in all the land? Hitting on her? Julian would love this. She flexes her magic towards the fire again, trying to get it to burn a little hotter, but she’s so tired herself that her magic is hesitant to respond. “A friend got sick,” she whispers. 

Whatever joviality Lucio had at his current situation is wiped from his face, replaced with a heaviness that almost looks like… guilt? “Someone close?” 

“No, not really. Just a neighboring store owner. She was supposed to come to tea but never showed, so I went to check on her.” With a heavy sigh, she pinches the bridge of her nose and starts fiddling with her hair again. “Let’s just say she didn’t go quickly. And I sat by her the whole time, trying potion after potion, but I didn’t know much about medicine by then. So, when she was gone, I went looking for Julian and asked him to start training me, and things were getting so bad he agreed in a heartbeat.” Smiling sadly, she begins to undo the ruined braid. “So. Here I am. Trying to help.” 

He’s quiet for a long moment, contemplative almost. “And, do you think you are?” 

The question throws her off, draws her gaze back down to him and makes her brows knit together. “I…”  _ Am I? I…  _ “...No. I… I don’t think I really am. At least, not beyond offering a hand to hold.” 

Lucio’s eyes search hers for a minute before he pulls the glove off his metal hand. Slowly, he reaches up and runs his glimmering fingers through her hair, watches the movement before he holds the hand out to her. “Well, I’ve got a hand that’s… pretty lonely these days.” 

She giggles softly and gently takes his hand in hers and puts her other upon his hair. “Then I’d be glad to hold it for you, sir.” 

They look at each other for a long moment before Lucio abruptly turns so that his face is turned in towards her stomach. His other hand moves to touch her side, tracing her tattoos slowly and deliberately, making her shiver. She half expects him to ask about them and their meaning, but he stays surprisingly quiet, just following the art piece by piece until his eyes finally droop shut. 

Lucio is surprisingly warm, for as thin as he is. His proximity does much to help warm her, especially once he presses into her, his face nuzzling into her stomach. She’s almost comfortable, now, his contact with her allowing her magic to flow a little better which lets the fire burn warmer. It doesn’t take long for Lucio’s breath to even out with sleep, and Morgana is quick to follow. 

Some few hours later, Lucio is the first to stir from a tremor running through him. Grumbling, his arm snakes around Morgana’s waist, and the coldness of the metal makes her squeal awake. “H-Hey!” 

Lucio grumbles again, curling in on himself. “Cold,” he grunts into her stomach. 

Blinking, she straightens up and frowns when she sees the fire has died down. She tosses a few pieces of wood back on and waves her hand across the embers, breathing life back into them. He shivers again, but his face against her bare stomach is burning. She smooths his hair back and checks his pulse, frowning. “We’ve gotta get you back to the palace, my lord. You need proper rest and medical attention.” 

“But I’m so comfy,” he whines. 

Morgana chuckles softly but shakes her head. “Nope. Come on. The rain has stopped. It’s to the palace with both of us. I am meant to be helping work on your cure, after all.” 

“Are you sure you’re not my cure?” 

Blushing, she giggles and pats his head gently. “I don’t think so, my lord. Come on.” Against his protestations, she slips out from under him and pulls her now-dry shirt on. It takes some doing to get him off the ground, and his steps are heavy, clumsy. As they set out into the grounds, it quickly becomes apparent that Lucio is not going to make this short journey on his own, so Morgana takes his arm around her shoulders and her arm about his waist, helping support his weight. It’s slow going, and Lucio nearly passes out more than once, but finally they manage to get him inside. As they make their way to his wing, they pass a chamberlain, and Morgana catches his arm. “Send for Dr. Devorak, tell him Morgana says to hurry to the Count’s rooms.” With a squeak, the chamberlain scurries off to do as he was bid, and Morgana puts her focus back on Lucio. 

By the time they reach his rooms, most of his weight is upon her, and his feet barely lift off the ground anymore. He collapses in a heap when she sets him on the bed, his breath shallow, eyes unable to stay open. “Oh, no you don’t,” she growls. Moving quickly about the room, she grabs a cloth and wets it in the water basin and tosses a new log on the dying fire. 

He hisses as she puts the cloth against his forehead. “Cold…” 

“Don’t worry, milord. Julian is coming. We’ll get you sorted.” The way her voice wavers makes it sound as though she’s trying to convince herself as much as him, and frankly she isn’t totally sure that’s not what she’s trying to do. She moves to take his boots off and gets him situated properly on the bed. “I think perhaps next time, we should endeavor to meet somewhere  _ inside  _ the palace, hm?” 

It takes him great strain to do it, but Lucio manages to effect a pout and twitches his fingers against her hand. “But I look… so dashing among the flowers.” 

“Quite so, milord, quite so,” she chuckles. Taking her hand in his, she tries to send calming magic up his arm and is pleasantly surprised to find that the enchantments around the metal only help to conduct her energy. He sighs in contentment, his face relaxing slightly. “Well, perhaps at least somewhere closer to the palace, ey?” 

“I can handle it...” 

She reaches up and readjusts the cloth upon his forehead. A bit of hair has fallen, so she strokes it back ever so softly. “Of course you can, sir.” 

“What happened?” 

Morgana jumps as the door bursts open and turns to look at Julian. He freezes, eyes trailing along her arms to where she’s still touching his hair and holding his hand. Blushing furiously, she looks back down at Lucio and clears her throat. “We got caught in the rain, ducked in to stay dry but his condition deteriorated. He’s got a fever, erratic heartbeat, dizziness, and lethargy.” 

Julian makes a humming noise and crosses over to the other side of the bed, settling on it with his own pack. When he speaks, his voice is hard enough to send a cold chill down her spine. “Very well. I can take it from here.” 

“But I--” 

“I said I’ve got it, Morgana. You’ve done enough. Go home.” 

She flinches at the tone and looks away, swallowing back tears. “Of course, sir.” Patting Lucio’s hand once, she slides from the bed and leaves the room. She makes it about two halls away before she has to duck between two suits of armor to break down, tears streaming freely along her cheeks. 

It takes several minutes of firm affirmations that Julian didn’t mean to be as cross as he was, he’s just worried about his patient, all that nonsense before she can wipe her face clean and start off for the dungeons. But there remains a voice niggling in the back of her mind, telling her that that wasn’t the only reason for his anger. She wasn’t even entirely sure if it was because he might be thinking it’s her fault Lucio is so sick.  _ Is he mad that I was with Lucio?  _ she wonders. 

Tired from the long day and still a little cold from the rain and now Julian’s agitation towards her, she can’t bring herself to head back down to the dungeons. Instead, she sets off for home, the thought of a nice hot cup of tea urging her feet to move. 

Xxx

There’s a letter waiting for her upon her doorstep, somehow dry despite the rain. With a heavy sigh, she braces herself for what’s inside as she picks it up, the familiar scrawl telling her it’s from Asra. As if it would’ve been anyone else. 

The shop is thankfully untouched as she had hoped, no signs of any unwanted intruders or anything. She heads upstairs, peeling off her shirt as she goes. “Oh, Benny Boy!~” she calls. 

Her only answer is a puff of smoke coming from the fireplace as the salamander sneezes. Chuckling, she goes over to check on him, the letter forgotten on the table. “Oh, Benny. Did I forget to clean your ashes last time I was here?” Scooping the grumpy creature out of its home, she settles him upon her shoulder and scratches his nose. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Here, come sit over here.” She sets him on the table and gives him a piece of charcoal to nibble on and giggles when he  _ krkr _ s at her. 

The stove is cleaned quick enough, but Benny seems content to sit out with her. Eyeing the letter, she moves over to the armoire and pulls out one of her dresses, the stench of the dungeons still clinging to her clothes. Benny watches her change and chirps happily when she finally comes to sit beside him again. He chirps and happily scoots into her lap as she picks up the letter and frowns at it. “D’you think this one is gonna hurt, too, Benny?” 

The salamander hums softly and bleps at her, making her giggle. That little bit of cuteness is enough that she can steel herself against her fear and open the blasted letter. Her eyes scan over his words, and a pang of… sadness? Guilt? Something, anyways, floods through her. He’s still thinking about her, then, wherever he’s gone. And here she’s just spent the day cuddling the fucking Count of Vesuvia, as if she and Asra never had anything in the first place. 

Scowling and biting back tears, she sets the letter aside and scoops the salamander back up. “I’m sorry, Benny, but momma needs some tea.” 

The salamander chirps and scurries into the stove, igniting it quickly for her. The rest of the night passes in quiet contemplation before she falls asleep tucked up in the chair beneath the window. 

The bed smells too much of Asra. 

Xxx

The next day starts early, for her, though not of her own volition. She’s awoken by a cart clammering outside, loud enough that it startles Benny, if the flash of fire in the stove is any indication. She’s sore from having slept in the chair, but she can’t bring herself to regret it. Eyeing the bed warily, she starts to dress and sighs heavily. “Benny?” She can hear his soft  _ kr _ in response. “Do you wanna go to work for me?” The stove is annoyingly silent in response, and it makes her sigh. “Well what good are you?” Grumbling, she runs a brush through her hair, drops some snacks into the stove for him, and sets off for work. 

The dungeons are a flurry of movement and anxiety by the time she arrives, and she’s already over all of it. The tight confines of Julian’s room offer little to soothe her agitation, but when he looks up at her, the frustration he had towards her the previous day is gone from his face. “Hey,” he says. 

She rubs her face and nods back at him. “Morning. Get to bed.” 

He snorts and turns back towards his work, waving her off. “I’m fine for a while.” 

She isn’t in the mood to argue today, so she just slips into her chair and picks up her own work. “How’s he doing?” 

Julian doesn’t have to ask. “A little better. Got his fever down. But I’ve ordered him confined to quarters for the time being.” 

_ No more garden walks for us, then, _ she thinks dismally. Her work does well to distract her from her unsettling disappointment, and before she knows it, it’s nearing noon. Grumbling, she swats Julian’s arm and points towards the bed. “Bed.” 

Groaning, he dramatically picks himself up and sighs. “Yes,  _ Mom. _ ” 

As Julian sinks into the bed, Morgana stands and stretches with a sigh. “I’m going on break. You’d better actually be  _ asleep  _ when I get back, or so help me…” 

He waves her off with a roll of his eyes. “Yes, sir.” 

Snorting, she slips through the door and shuts it firmly behind her. A quick glance about the operating room is enough to make her skin crawl, fresh cadavers lying upon tables, doctors talking in their detached way about what to do with them. If Valdemar had been there, it might’ve been enough to make her retreat back into the room, but as it was, she tilted her chin up and pressed forward, out towards freedom. 

She doesn’t make it far before she’s caught by a chamberlain who scurries up to her with a breathless, “Apprentice!” 

_ Great, _ she thinks. “Yes?” 

“Milady, your presence is requested in milord Count Lucio’s chambers.” 

Frowning, she glances towards the door, towards the warm sunlight streaming in. “If his excellency is ill, you should send for Dr. Devorak. I’m really not able to--” 

“You were requested by name, milady.” 

Sighing, she nods. “Very well. I know the way.” Scooting around the poor man, she sets off on the long trek to Lucio’s wing, all thoughts of sitting under the sun forgotten. 

Mercedes and Melchior are sat at the bottom of the stairs, as if waiting for her. Mercedes perks up when she rounds the corner and bounds over to greet her, tail wagging so hard her body shakes. Chuckling, Morgana scratches behind her ears and grins. “Hello, pretty lady.” Melchior  _ whuff _ s and starts up the stairs as if saying he’s over the cute display of affection, and Morgana sighs. “Well. Shall we?” 

The door is shut when Morgana reaches it. Frowning, she gently knocks three times and waits for an answer. When she gets none, she knocks once more, harder. “My lord?” Still without an answer, she opens the door just enough to poke her head in. “My lord Lucio?” 

“Come,” is his reply. He sounds awful, his voice hoarse and scratchy. As she steps inside, she can see why. He looks like shit, from his mussed hair to his baggy eyes to his rumpled clothes. He looks so small, settled against his massive collection of pillows, and for a moment, Morgana’s heart aches. “You’re late,” he huffs. 

Her brow raises at him and sets her hands upon her hips. “My lord, if you’re in need of medical attention, I’m really not the one who--” 

“Just.” He sighs in irritation and gestures her come closer, which she obliges. He looks almost… embarrassed, averts his eyes from her as if he doesn’t want her to see him blush (if he had the strength to blush.) “I just. Wanted to tell you not to look for me in the garden anymore.” 

Frowning, she tilts her head at him.  _ Was I ever looking for him in the garden?  _ “Yes, I heard of your… internment.” 

He grunts, casts a glare towards the giant portrait across from the bed. Affecting a voice she supposes is meant to be an imitation of Julian, he scoffs, “‘You should be more careful, Lucio. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this, Lucio.’” Snorting, he picks at a thread on his comforter. “So. Yeah. I’m afraid your days will no longer be brightened by the brilliance that is me.” He tries to put on a dashing grin at the end of that, but it looks far too strained to have any positive effect on her. 

She looks him up and down, considering the weight of his words. Does he… Had he been looking for her yesterday? Waiting for her, even? What… What did he think was going on between them? 

What does  _ she  _ think is going on between them? What  _ could  _ happen between them? A dying Count and a questionably-spoken-for magician? 

“I understand, milord. If there’s nothing else?” 

He looks at her, an expressionless mask slipping across his face. When he speaks, his voice is hard and distant, “No. There’s nothing else.” 

It throws her off a bit, enough that when she turns to leave, she hesitates. Her eyes drift up to the magnificent painting he had looked towards earlier. It’s a portrait of him, standing tall and looking very regal upon a battlefield, and it is in every sense of the word ‘beautiful.’ Looking from the painting to Lucio now, one might struggle to see the similarities, might not even realize it’s the same man. And the thought of leaving him here, alone in this room day in and day out with naught for company but this reminder of the man he used to be… Shaking her head, Morgana turns back around and plops down on the bed beside him. He lets out a surprised grunt and looks over at her, bewildered, but she settles in with a grin. “Well, this is certainly more comfortable than a shed floor.” 

He regards her for a moment as if unsure he heard her right. Then, with a tired grin, he nods and leans back, ever the picture of (very ill) contentment. “You can say that again.” 

The next few days pass much the same way: Morgana rises, tries to send Julian to bed, they work till noon, and she sets off to spend her break sitting beside the Count, talking of everything and nothing. It does not take her long to consider him a friend, and it takes even less time after that for her to begin to consider him… something else. 

Asra left her. This is a fact she has come to accept, and a fact she uses to compensate for her guilt. He left her. He made the decision to give up on what they had, to abandon the city which could have used his help, and walk away. 

She owes him nothing, anymore. 

Xxx

“You would not  _ believe  _ what I just saw one of the other doctors do.” Pushing her way into Lucio’s room, she doesn’t bother pausing to wait for his permission to enter. She crosses over to the wash basin and scrubs her hands, grumbling. 

“Wouldn’t I?” 

She squeals at the proximity of his voice, and again when she feels the cold metal of his arm snake about her waist. Blushing furiously, she casts a glance back at him, at his face so close to hers. “I…” Clearing her throat, she looks back down at the water, struggling to get her heartbeat back under control. “Hi.” 

He chuckles and brushes a strand of her hair back from her face, looking at her with something akin to affection. “Hi.” 

She tries so damned hard not to shiver at his touch, but it’s for nothing. She can practically  _ feel  _ the smugness drifting off him when he notices. “You seem to be in… better spirits today.” Gods, is it getting warm in here? 

“Mm. What can I say? It would appear you  _ were  _ my cure after all.” 

Snorting, she slips out of his arm and goes to sit at the foot of his bed, her hands going to her hair. “You use that line on every pretty girl who comes in here?” 

“As of late?” He taps his finger to his chin in mock contemplation. “Nah, just you. Now, Valerius--” 

She scoffs and chucks a pillow at him. “You’d dare compare me to  _ Valerius?”  _

Laughing, he snatches the pillow and moves to sit across from her. “Oh, heavens no. He’s much prettier. He can braid his own hair.” 

She squeals and casts a vehement glare at him. “Well if that’s the way you’re going to be, I’ll just go  _ outside. _ ” 

“Oof, ouch, babe.” 

She giggles and does her best to pull her hair back again. “Though, now you mention it?” 

He rolls his eyes and scoots to sit behind her, his hands moving to her hair. She practically purrs at the feel of his fingers against her scalp, and she melts into his touch. “I should start charging you.” 

“You don’t pay me enough to afford you.” 

“I didn’t realize I paid you at all.” 

She giggles and shakes her head, looking down towards her hands. “You don’t.” 

“Well. We could work out… some  _ other  _ form of payment.” 

Gods, she can almost hear his eyebrows waggle. Giggling, she shakes her head again. “In your dreams.” 

He sputters dramatically but finishes the braid. This time, instead of casting it over her shoulder as was his custom, he tugs firmly, tilting her head to look back at him. The look on his face is enough to make her blush again, but he won’t release her hair, not that she wants him to. Feather-softly, he reaches up and caresses her cheek with the tip of a finger, his eyes following the movement distinctly. His finger moves to ghost over her lips, but she grins deviously and catches it between her teeth, biting down hard enough to make him squeak. “Owie.” 

Morgana stops, stares at him for a long moment before a shriek of laughter bursts from her chest. “ _ Owie? _ ” 

He’s blushing now, looking away, and he releases her hair. “Shut up,” he pouts. 

She turns towards him, biting her lip to keep the grin from breaking her face. “And… what if I don’t? Will you give me an…  _ owie _ ?” 

Chuckling, he pulls the pillow back and lightly smacks her with it. “I  _ might. _ ” 

She regards him a moment, judging his strength today. He seems almost back to full health, a good day indeed.  _ Yeah. He can take it.  _

He raises a brow at her contemplative look. “What’re you--ACK!” He lets out a squeal as she tackles him back to the bed, another squeal as a different pillow smacks him lightly across the face. “H-Hey!” 

She’s laughing, a deep, full-bellied laugh that feels ages since she’s allowed and that makes his heart soar. She rolls off him, holding her stomach as she struggles to get it back under control. Lucio watches with a fond smile, chuckling himself. 

Morgana looks over at him, swallowing her laughter back down, but she can’t help but giggle at the expression on his face. “What?” 

“You’re just… So beautiful.” 

The laughter stops in her throat, replaced by a sudden seriousness that permeates the air with a heavy miasma. “What did you say?” 

Blushing furiously, he looks away from her and scratches the back of his neck. “Um. That you’re beau--” 

Giggling, she presses into him, her hand going to grip the front of his shirt and pull him down into her, and she catches his lips in a warm kiss. Lucio freezes, eyes going wide against it before pulling back. “What... “ 

Morgana looks up at him, blushing furiously before realization dawns across her face. 

She just kissed Lucio. The Count of Vesuvia. 

The  _ plague-stricken  _ Count of Vesuvia. 

“Well… Shit.” 

They stare at each other for a long moment before Lucio tears up. “Morgana, I’m…” 

She shakes her head and cups his cheek. “It’s done, now, innit? So, it doesn’t matter if I…” He’s tense as she pulls him back in for another kiss, her body pressing into his. After a moment, he gives in, his hand going to cup her cheek, and her name is whispered against her lips. 

Xxx

The sunlight streams in head-on, blinding and warm. Morgana groans, pinching the bridge of her nose before sitting up. The color of the room tells her that it’s dusk, now, the setting sun giving her one last chance to rise before nightfall, and she does begrudgingly. It isn’t until she notes the portrait across the way that she remembers where she is, and a deep blush crosses her cheeks. 

She fucked Lucio. Count of Vesuvia. 

The  _ plague-stricken  _ Count of Vesuvia. 

Grinning to herself, she touches her lips and looks back towards his still sleeping form. “Well, shit.” 

She gathers her clothes and dresses lazily. There’s no point rushing, now. She’s more than late to going back to her shift, so why hurry? He’s still asleep when she leaves, so she slips quietly through the door and casts him one final, warm glance before she sets off for the dungeons again. 

Julian frowns at her when she comes back through the door, runs a hand through his hair. “Where have you been?” 

She grins dreamily but says nothing of the past...however long as she settles back into her chair. “Oh. You know. Around.” 

He shakes his head at her and sighs, going back to his work. “You might as well go to bed. Or home. Your shift is nearly over.” 

She shakes her head and pulls her work into her lap. “No, I’ll be fine for a few more hours. It’s only fair.” 

Grunting, he takes a sip of his coffee and gives her a sideways glance. After a moment, he mumbles, “You look different.” 

“It was a really good break.” 

Xxx

She goes home a few days later to check on Benny, a lightness in her step despite her impending doom. Lucio refused to speak of it, and for that she was grateful. They both knew what would happen, now. She would get sick. She would die. So, they chose to spend their last bit of time together being… together. Even this trip home would only be for a few minutes, just to clean the stove for Benny and check the mail, and then she’d head back to the palace, back to him. 

The letter is waiting on her doorstep. It’s enough to make her steps falter, enough to take the smile from her face and replace her lightness with crippling guilt. 

Asra. 

She hadn’t been thinking of him when she kissed Lucio. She hadn’t been thinking of anything except being in that moment. And now she was going to die. And Asra would be alone. 

The letter contains a pouch of tea leaves, a common gift from Asra’s journeys. As she brews it with a happy salamander providing her heat, she can’t help but wonder how Asra will react. She can’t imagine he’ll take it well. The letter itself is… troubling. He wants to talk when all this is over. 

She smiles sadly as she looks down at the writing, can imagine him hunched over a rock, Faust hanging about his shoulders. He has no idea. He’ll likely have no idea. 

Perhaps it’s better this way. If he knew, he’d come back, and he’d likely get sick, too. 

Yes. It’s better this way. 

She tucks the letter away with the others sent to her from his travels, sets the dried flower upon the table and casts a wistful glance around the apartment. 

Yes. It’s better this way. 

Xxx

When it happens, she’s surprisingly at peace with it. She doesn’t know if someone has sent for Lucio, doesn’t even know if anyone suspects they have a relationship. In her final moments, as Julian lay huddled over her, weeping like a babe, she can only picture Asra’s smiling face, can only think of the pain he’ll feel when he learns of her demise. 

She asks Julian to tell him she’s sorry. 

Xxx

Several days pass without word from Morgana, and Lucio is getting antsy. He’s still confined to quarters despite his uptick in health, and getting servants to come to him is increasingly difficult. It isn’t until Julian comes to check on him that he’s able to ask. 

“Where’s Morgana?” 

And the look on Julian’s face, the flash of pain and shadow that covers his eyes, it’s enough. Lucio sinks onto the bed, feeling very much as if his heart were ripped in two. He swallows hard and bites back tears, not wanting Julian to see him weep, and turns his attention to the portrait on the wall. 

Julian doesn’t know what went down between them, but the way he pauses at the door and mumbles a quiet, “I’m sorry,” it’s enough to break the dam. 

Xxx

Three years. 

Three  _ goddamn  _ years, trapped between the worlds, not a scrap of personal interaction from  _ anybody. _

He’d tried again today. Tried to appear physically enough for a servant to notice him, but she’d passed through him like they always did. 

He stalks through the gardens, fist clenching and unclenching in his frustration. Though he’s not paying attention, his feet carry him towards the swing in the garden, long forgotten by anyone but him. The apple tree no longer bears fruit, and the hedges have long since become overgrown and out of control, but it’s still his favorite place to go. 

It reminds him of her. 

He sighs and rubs his palm against his forehead, growling in frustration. No. He doesn’t like to think of her, even now after all these years. She resides in a quiet place in his mind, far from his own prying eyes, safe from everything but his dreams. No. He’ll not think of her now. 

He rounds the corner and sighs heavily, resigned to sit upon the stone bench that’s overshadowed by ivy. He’ll sit here quietly for a while, maybe try to think of a new plan, though at this point how many more possible plans can there be? It isn’t until the breeze carries a scent to him that he stills, his eyes widening. “...No.” 

He swallows hard and shakes his head, afraid to turn around. No. It can’t be. She’s dead. She’s been dead for three years. She’s long since been burned and buried and she’s never fucking coming back. 

And then there’s a giggle. 

Lucio spins abruptly on his heel, her name caught in his throat, and all breath is stricken from his body. 

She’s kneeling at the base of the tree, watching a fuzzy caterpillar crawl its way along a leaf, a smile caught on her face. She’s dressed differently, not wearing a shirt and pants as he’d known her before but rather wearing a soft blue-green dress, and her hair is down. But it’s her. It’s… 

“Morgana?” 

Is she…? Did she turn? Did she feel him there? 

No. She doesn’t see him. He’s as lost to her as he is to everyone else, and his heart sinks ever the slightest. But she’s here. She’s alive. Somehow. How? 

“Morgana! There you are!” 

He turns to watch the short red-haired woman come bustling through the brush, almost breathless. Morgana rises and greets her with a grin, the same grin she used to greet him with. “Sorry, Portia. I got a little lost and then… Caterpillar.” She points at the fuzzy creature for emphasis. 

Portia chuckles and waves her hand. “It’s alright. I know the gardens pretty well. Milady wants a word, if you don’t mind?” 

“Of course not.” She hikes her skirts up a little ways and scoots over the thick grass. She passes close enough Lucio can feel the memory of her skin against his, as if she were almost touching him, and it makes his heart ache. He follows close by, not wanting to let her out of his sight again. Some several minutes later, when the palace comes into view, she lets out an appreciative breath. “It’s just so pretty.” 

“Have you ever been here before yesterday?” Portia asks. 

Well. Yes. Of course she has. She used to be an apprentice, after all. 

“No, never.” 

He pauses in his steps, and if he could frown, he would.  _ What?  _

Portia smiles brightly and puts her hand on her hip, coming to a stop to take in the view of the palace spires. “It doesn’t get old, really. Though, I’m told it’s a much nicer sight without the Count hanging around.” 

_ ...Hey now.  _ He pouts, puts his own hand on his hip.  _ Uncalled for.  _

Morgana tilts her head towards Portia, and the next words make Lucio’s heart chill over. “What was he like?” 

... _ What kind of messed up shit is this?  _ He comes to stand in front of her, looking down at her, but he can see no underhandedness in her expression. Only genuine curiosity. “Morgana, what gives?” 

Portia shrugs. “I dunno. I’m fairly new here. I’m told he was awful, though. Let the city go to ruin while he threw parties all the time.” 

Morgana frowns softly and looks towards the palace again, uncertainly. “Then maybe this… Dr. Devorak? That’s his name, right?” 

“Mm.” 

“Maybe he did Vesuvia a favor.” 

_ She doesn’t… She doesn’t remember me. She… She doesn’t know who I am.  _ “Morgana…” 

Portia shrugs and sets off again, practically skipping. “I can’t say either way, but I know a lot of the staff aren’t too hurt he’s gone.” 

Morgana hums thoughtfully and brushes her hair over her shoulder. Lucio reaches out as if to touch it, to run his fingers through it as he had so many times before. 

But she doesn’t feel him there. 


End file.
